


Of Snow and Cocoa

by shadows_of_1832 (SaoirseVictoire)



Series: Rain and Ashes [3]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: EnjonineWeek2019, F/M, Multicultural, Seasons, day 5: shifts, i think, lmxfmab crossover, started out as
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-13
Updated: 2019-08-13
Packaged: 2020-08-23 04:34:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 778
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20236810
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SaoirseVictoire/pseuds/shadows_of_1832
Summary: In which the weather inspires Eponine to make a rare treat, and the pair learns of different tastes.





	Of Snow and Cocoa

Snow surprises Eponine the first time she witnesses it fall. Growing up in the desert, she’d been accustomed to the occasional chill in the air, but never snow. She recalls Marius describing it to her during the winter months of the war, and what she sees is better than anything her imagination could have come up with.

The frozen crystals sparkle as they cover the fields, a soft blue-white reflecting in the moonlight. She watches the footprints behind Enjolras as he walks up to the door after a day at Southern Command, and thinks how the snow reminds her more of sand, impressionable, tiny parts making up a whole landscape, only purer, more fragile.

“We’re supposed to be getting a blizzard,” he says as he enters the front door, snowflakes covering his shoulders and resting in the edges of his hair. “Would you believe that this is odd weather for Rennes? According to Joly, it is. In New Optain, I’d expect this, but not here. A few snow showers here, yes, but never a blizzard.”

“Really?” she replies, still staring out the window. “I suppose there’s a first time for everything.”

“I suppose.” He takes off his coat and hangs it up. “I’m glad I don’t have to be in tomorrow; driving would be a nightmare.”

She sees him pause out of the corner of her eye, staring at her then glancing at the tray sitting on the end table.

His hand gestures to the pair of full cups on the tray. “Is this…?”

“Cocoa,” she says, turning away from the window. “Musichetta happened to stop by and brought over a few different spices she found at the market today. Figured the two of us would like a rare treat, given the weather. I’ve been told you Amestrians have some when it’s like this outside.”

“Sometimes,” he says, sitting on sofa.

She hands him one of the cups, then sits down beside him with hers. She watches him take a sip and his eyes go wide prior to a small cough as he brings the cup away from his lips and sets it down.

“You all right?” she asks, eyebrows furrows.

He nods, coughing again before answering. “I’m fine, it’s just…a bit different than I was expecting.”

“Excuse me?” She looks into her cup, then back at him. “Haven’t you had it before?”

“Yes,” he says, chuckling. “Just, not cold and with chili powder and cornmeal.”

“Oh.” Her gaze drifts to the floor. “I’m sorry, that’s just the way my mother used to make it and how—”

He reaches out and touches her shoulder. “There’s no need to apologize. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“You’re disappointed.”

“I’m not.” His hand moves to brush her chin, causing her to look up. “I’m…surprised, if anything. I’ve never had it this way before.”

“Your family makes it differently?”

“As do most Amestrians. Cocoa here is traditionally served warm and blended with sugar. My mother would sometimes mix it with milk instead of water if we had enough on hand; it’s a bit smoother that way,” he explains, picking up the cup again. “This, is how it was usually served in Ishval?”

She nods. “Yes, though I must admit, it was rare. We were dependent on trading with Aerugo for the cocoa and chili powder, though I don’t think either grow there. Possibly they acquired it through trade with Creta or further west, I’m not sure.”

“I see,” he replies, then looks back at his cup. “No harm in trying something new.”

He takes another sip as she begins drinking hers. The bitterness, for a brief moment, takes her back home, to a time before there were soldiers and before it became ash, to where she and her sister and brothers crowded around the table as their mother portioned out the drink to the five of them, a simpler time before poverty and desperation took hold and lead to darker pathways.

She glances outside at the falling snow, then back to him. She wonders if he thinks similarly, perhaps to a time where he and his sister did the same thing, perhaps covered in snow and tracking water across hardwood floors on their way to the kitchen before either of their parents could chide them about not having removed their wet clothes and boots.

“Next time, I think,” she starts, holding her half-filled cup, “perhaps we could try it your way? I’d like to taste the difference.”

He nods in agreement. “We can make it that way, sure.”

He holds out his half-filled cup, and she clinks her cup against his, then turns her attention back to the falling snow.


End file.
